Never Before
by SBs alive
Summary: I am proud to present, in the series of 'the most overused plotlines ever, written in my way': Sirius' last days in Azkaban and how he did finally escape.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Would anyone actually believe me, if I told that I am JKR and that everything is mine? I thought not. The quote you recognise is from PoA.

**AN:** I _know_ this plotline is one of the most overused on this site. I don't care. I happen to like warming up old things from my point of view. Give it a shot, people.

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**Never Before**

**Prologue **

It was dark.

It was always dark. The Dementors did not need the light. The prisoners did not deserve it. What would he not have given for a single ray of sunlight, just one more time? What would he not have given to be able to remember what light was like?

How long had it been? How long had he been trapped in here? How long since…?

The memories. Anger burned in his veins like poison as he saw _his_ smile once again. A mocking sneer that was so unlike _his_ shy, friendly grin, which he could no longer remember.

The Dementors drew closer to his cell. They were never far away. He wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his head on his knees. He tried to fight away the images flooding his mind. He knew the effort was useless.

He was there again.

Holding James' cold and lifeless body, howling his grief to the negligent starts. His fault, all his fault…

Facing _him_ again. Maddened by grief and guilt, blinded by rage, ready to blast _him_ apart.

"_James and Lily, Sirius! How could you?"_

For a fleeting moment he stood frozen by those words. Then _he_ blew up the street and the world exploded in a deafening storm of flying debris and dust and screams. Screams filled his mind as he watched the traitor disappear down a sewer. Dead lay everywhere. His gaze fell upon a severed finger. He broke down.

He was innocent.

Darkness was everywhere. With unseen fingers touching his face, it was so close; it was trying to suffocate him. Or was it just a dream? Was he awake? Was there a difference? His nightmares were his life. His life was his nightmare.

They had thrown him in this hell for the rest of his life. How long would that be? How long had it already been? How long since…?

_x~x_

**AN:** Sirius would have wanted you to tell me what you thought of this.


	2. Only A Newspaper

**AN:** I _know _it has been abysmally long since the prologue. Real life can be a pain, sometimes.

Not mine

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**Chapter 1 - Only A Newspaper**

Cornelius Fudge pulled his cloak tighter around himself and shuddered involuntarily. The annual inspection of Azkaban was definitely among the most unpleasant of his duties as the Minister, even though the Dementors were allowed nowhere near him.

Fudge's glance slid from one prisoner to another without him paying much attention to any of them. Besides unpleasant, Fudge perceived the inspection as thoroughly pointless, since the prisoners were, as always, merely huddled in their cells, muttering or whimpering incoherently when they showed any sign of life at all.

The Dementors kept even the top-security prisoners docile, that is, trapped within their minds in well-deserved misery. It was almost possible to forget that these human wrecks were the most dangerous individuals in the wizarding world, whose names inspired fear almost as great as that of their Master's. The daily care of the Dementors had reduced them to little more than dead. Nothing to be worried about.

Fudge did, nevertheless, quicken his pace. After all, the sooner he got out...

"You're done with that newspaper, aren't you?"

The hoarse voice caused Fudge literally to jump. The Minister wheeled around and steadying his breath he faced the prisoner he had passed but a moment ago. Sirius Black had averted his gaze from the wall in front of his bunk that he had been staring at and was now looking straight at Fudge with the light of reason evident in his deadened eyes.

"What?" was all Fudge could manage. How in the blazes was this man still able to form a coherent sentence?

"I'd like to have your newspaper, if you are finished with it," Black said.

He stood up very slowly and stepped closer to Fudge, who had to use all of his willpower to keep himself from flinching back.

"What would you do with it?" Fudge asked suspiciously.

"Well," Black rasped. "I have to confess that I miss doing the crossword puzzle. One used to keep me occupied for days, and there isn't that much to do around here. After all, you can only count the bricks in your cell so many times until you start to remember the number." Black paused for a moment before adding "Minister," in a slightly mocking tone.

Fudge was far too occupied with staring at the man in utter amazement to notice. Here he was, having an intelligible conversation with a man, who had spent the past dozen years within a few feet from the Dementors all the time. And if he was not much mistaken, Black had just made a feeble attempt of a _joke_ about his situation. He did not appear insane at all! It was unnatural!

Fudge's hand closed around the wand in his pocket and the Minister was suddenly more grateful than ever of the bars between him and the convict, and of the Aurors within earshot. Those empty grey eyes that were fixed on him were unnervingly calm, and that could have been a contemptuous _smile_ playing around his lips. What if-

Fudge shook himself mentally. This place was starting to get on him. By the looks of Black, a _muggle_ could have taken on him and won. He was the Minister for Magic and he was _not_ intimidated by a convict trapped in his cell, asking for the Prophet. It was only a newspaper, for heaven's sake!

Without another word, Fudge handed his Prophet to Black who took it in equal silence. Then the Minister strode forward, attempting and failing to hide the violent shaking of his hands. He was definitely going to need a sizeable glass of Ogden's the very moment he got back to the mainland...

_x~x_

Had the Minister stayed but a moment longer, he would have been there to see the prisoner's forced smile freeze on his face.

Had the Minister looked back at him instead of hurrying away from the abnormal mass-murderer, he would have seen a range of emotions portrayed on the convict's usually blank face. He would have seen recognition changing rapidly to shock, before transforming to murderous fury that would have made even the bravest of people back off in fear.

Had the Minister not been so keen to get away from the top-security ward, he might even have heard the inhuman snarl erupting from somewhere behind Sirius Black's bared yellow teeth.

Fudge would have been terrified. But he wanted to get away from the island as soon as possible. He did not look back.

_x~x_

**AN: **Review.


	3. From the Ashes

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognise. And probably some of the things you don't recognise are not mine, either. A cookie for everyone who spots who I'm quoting (besides JKR).

**AN: **Yes, it has been forever. No, I don't have an excuse. Yes, you ought to review.

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**Chapter 2 - From the Ashes**

Sirius never noticed Fudge's abrupt departure from the ward. He was staring shocked at the Prophet's front page; his relief because of the temporary withdrawal of the Dementors and grim excuse of satisfaction from seeing how nervous he made the Minister were both swept from his mind. The unnaturally cheerful family was waving eagerly from the picture. And there, right there… It could not be… Except that it was. _Him_.

Sirius clenched his hands in fists so hard that his fingernails cut into his palms, drawing blood. The ever-so-familiar form was sitting comfortably on a boy's shoulder, looking like he did not have a worry in the world. Sirius snarled ferociously. Few would have recognised the bestial sound as belonging to a human rather than some vicious creature from Hell.

The Dementors were returning and the candles flickered and died. There was darkness once more, and suffocating coldness, but he saw the picture still, saw the article, saw _him_ as if the front page had been etched on the surface of his eyes. A new wave of molten hatred dulled the edge of despair, though the memories flashed in his mind as always.

_Two red headed men lay completely still. Dead. Cut down before any help had come. Outnumbered. They never had a chance. Betrayed. Fallen like heroes. Fallen. Dead._

_An equally red haired woman collapsing against her tight-lipped husband, sobbing. _

_Wormtail was laughing. Dead bodies were scattered on a blown up street…_

He blinked. No. That had become after.

Gideon. Fabian.

Weasley. He remembered them. Molly and Arthur Weasley and their children. And Wormtail. A pet.

"_The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend."_

"…_Returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts…"_

"…_At Hogwarts…"_

Wormtail would be at Hogwarts. Why did that matter, now? Why did the idea feel like fingers of cold dread closing around his heart? 23 July 1993. Merlin, had it been so long? Wormtail would go to Hogwarts. Why did he care?

_A baby boy was crying all but lost in the arms of the Hogwarts gamekeeper._

"'_m sorry, Sirius… There's nothin' ye can do… They're gone… He's to live with 'is Aunt an' Uncle… Dumbledore's orders…"_

_With shaking hands he embraced his Godson for the last time, gently wiping away the blood from the fresh wound on his forehead. Then he reluctantly handed him back to Hagrid._

"_Take my motorbike, Hagrid, it'll be safer… Just take it, I- I won't need it anymore… Take him faster to-"_

Hogwarts!

Wormtail was at Hogwarts. With Harry.

For the first time in his life Sirius did not have to battle against losing himself in the endless sea of sorrow and guilt brought about by the presence of the Dementors. He was no stranger to fury, either, but this time it was not born from helpless regret. This time he knew it was not too late yet. There was still time.

Old fear became one with the new fear and left no place for another thought. Prongs was gone, but Harry still lived, his live hanging by the thin thread that was Wormtail's mercy. And no one knew of it, no one but Sirius himself. His existence had a purpose again. He would not allow his Godson die, too. Something had to be done.

_He_ had to do something. Anything.

_x~x_

**AN:** We are getting to the actual escape... much faster if you review.


	4. Never Before

**AN: **Do you know those chapters that are easy to write and just flow out of pen? This was the exact opposite. Please review.

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**Chapter 3 - Never Before**

Wormtail was at Hogwarts.

The effects of the Dementors that had once left Sirius all but crippled within his mind fighting tooth and nail for his sanity had faded to an agonising blur somewhere on the borders of his consciousness. He did not need to struggle to remember, either. It was all he could think about, awake or asleep.

Wormtail was at Hogwarts.

_A baby boy lay in his crib crying. All the people around him were there to protect him. Remus, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Moody and countless others. None of them seemed to notice when Wormtail walked past them. Sirius could not stop him, could not get out of the cage he had been locked into. He screamed for someone to see Wormtail, begged for people to listen to him as he told where Wormtail was. _

_No avail. Utterly helpless, Sirius watched his Godson being slain by the man who had sworn to his father to protect the boy with his life. And from somewhere he heard the chilling high-pitched laughter that had once been their worst nightmare..._

Sirius was startled awake, too terrified even to scream, unsure whether what he had just seen had been just a dream. He had difficulties with telling the difference, sometimes, but he was sure that the nightmare had not been real. Harry would not be a baby anymore. He was still safe. He had to be.

Wormtail was at Hogwarts.

Sirius leapt to his feet and paced restlessly back and forth in the small space of his cell. Harry was not dead. Yet. He was sure of it. But he was in the same castle with Wormtail. Harry would die the very moment Wormtail would profit from his death. A perfect crime. No one would suspect a dead man. Only Sirius knew he was still alive and he could not do a damn about it while locked up in Azkaban.

Wormtail was at Hogwarts.

Sirius struck his fist to a wall angrily.

He had to do something to help Harry. To stop Wormtail.

He would not be able to do anything as long as he was in Azkaban.

Sirius froze.

He would not be able to do anything as long as he was in Azkaban.

His breath caught in his throat.

So... if he was _not_ in Azkaban... He _would_ be able to stop Wormtail.

His heart beat painfully fast.

He had to get out.

Without another thought Sirius transformed and bounded to the cell door. He tried to fit his head through the bars, but they were much too narrow. He howled in frustration and slammed himself forcefully against the bars before transforming back to human. His hand brushed against the meagre bowl of gruel they used to feed the prisoners. Sirius threw the bowl to the opposite wall as hard as he could and collapsed then against the bars as the helpless anger was burned out of him.

No one had ever escaped from Azkaban. It could not be done.

It was useless.

_He_ was useless.

Completely useless.

Wormtail was at Hogwarts.

He would have to at least try.

Sirius' stomach constricted in hunger and he now regretted wasting the only food he would get today. The Dementors would not bring him anything until tomorrow. Swallowing his pride Sirius transformed into Padfoot and licked the gruel from the grimy stone. It was disgusting, but he was just too hungry to care.

Sirius slumped next to the wall. He was still hungry, but then, he could not remember _not_ being hungry.

The Dementors would bring him food.

Sirius shook his head. Why did that feel important?

The Dementors would bring him food.

He transformed. It had always been harder to think logically as a dog as human. Not that thinking logically was particularly easy with the Dementors close by, whether he was a man or an animal.

They would open the door.

The sudden realisation hit him like a bolt of lightning. He could try to slip past the Dementors once they had opened the cell door.

He would have a chance.

Merlin, he had to be mad.

He had to try.

Stark raving mad.

But he would have a chance.

Sirius waited.

_x~x_

After an age, or so it had felt for him, Sirius heard the creak of the hinges. He stood up, pure adrenaline rushing through every vein of his canine body. He stepped gingerly closer to the door as it opened and a pair of Dementors glided in. He was so full of fear and excitement that he thought he would be sick. He moved closer to the Dementors, who appeared to be as confused as something as soulless and evil could be. He was probably the first prisoner insane enough to approach them instead of shying away.

He had to do it now. No time to think about the consequences of failure.

Sirius slipped between the Dementors and sprang into full gallop. A blur of corridors flew past him and Sirius kept running, following his nose and praying it would not lead him to a dead end. He was thin enough to slip relatively easily between the last pair of bars and then he was outside. Breathing fresh air for the first time since beyond remembrance Sirius kept running. Never slowing, he jumped from a cliff trying to avoid impaling himself to the sharp rocks protruding from the sea.

The impact with the water almost knocked him unconscious as he fought desperately with the underwater currents. He felt his nose break the surface and he draw a desperate breath and swam.

Sirius felt his limbs go numb but forced them to move. He did not know how long he had fought the stormy sea, he was not even sure of the direction anymore due to the wrath of the ocean and the downpour from the skies. He just kept swimming. Salt from the water he had inhaled burned his eyes, nose and lungs and he had no strength left in him, but with the force of his will he kept swimming.

On the verge of passing out from exhaustion Sirius finally felt solid ground beneath his paws. He staggered in surprise and an enormous wave nearly pulled him under the surface. Swaying like a drunkard Sirius all but crawled the last few feet to the shore where he collapsed between a pair of large rocks that the barren coastline as full of.

Sirius did not know how long he lay there gasping desperately for breath and every muscle in his body screaming in agony. He was frozen to the bone and he felt wonderful. Emotions lost and forgotten long ago rushed back into his mind and he could remember again. Faded, torn and unreal, the memories were there. He could not recall ever feeling this _alive_.

Shaking from head to foot, Sirius transformed. He sat up painfully slowly, turned his face skywards and for the first time in a dozen years, Sirius felt the rain fall on his human face.

_x~x_

**AN:** Only the epilogue left. You'll get it tomorrow, provided that I won't be too hung over to write. If that is the case, you'll get it the day after tomorrow. Happy New Year to everyone!


	5. It Begins

**AN:** Thank you to all the wonderful people who reviewed (and expressed their sympathy towards the consequences of my heavy drinking)! I hug you from afar (though I have been told that my hugs work better as a threat than a compliment, but I believe it's the thought that counts). And as it turned out, this isn't the end. After _this_ there's only the epilogue left.

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**Chapter 4 – It Begins**

Cornelius Fudge rubbed his eyes and glanced at the magnificent grandfather clock positioned on the right side of the marble fireplace, where the merrily dancing flames had been reduced to glowing embers. It was only a quarter to eleven, but the ghastly weather and the exhausting day had taken their toll. Sometimes he wondered if the world would be a better place without any reporters. He was absolutely certain that the world would be a better place without Rita Skeeter.

Fudge had absolutely no idea, why they had made such a big deal of a Ministry worker, who had decided to curse his wife's cats a day previously. Though several muggles had indeed seen the bright green and fire-breathing felines, they had been obliviated without much effort. All in all, Fudge did not perceive the couple's elevated domestic issues as a matter of such importance that he ought to comment on it.

Admittedly, the man _was_ Fudge's wife's second cousin, but they were by no means very close. In fact, he was not even sure, what the bloke's name was. Edward something, as far as he could recall, but then, he mainly recognized the man by his extremely strange haircut. At least the heavy fines ascertained that the next time he would probably choose a different manner of expressing displeasure towards his wife's choice of pets.

Fudge sighed. It was, of course, a good thing that the wizarding world was not going through any major or even minor crises, but on the other hand, that meant that the reporters had to find less relevant news to print. And annoyingly often that meant that they would come to pester him. It had to be a particularly slow summer, as far as interesting news were concerned. For heavens sake, the Prophet had printed on the front page a story of Weasley winning the Galleon Draw only a couple of days ago.

Fudge drained his tea and set the cup on a table next to his armchair. He might as well call it a day and retire to bed. It was extraordinary how silent and dull the house was now that his wife was away in Dublin visiting her brother. He stood up and started towards the bedroom, when one of their house-elves, Sammy, slipped into the room.

"Apologies, Master Cornelius, but Mister-" was all the elf had time to say, before Rufus Scrimegeour pushed the door open and marched unceremoniously inside. Fudge was about to ask why precisely the Head of Aurors saw fit to burst into his living room at this hour, but Scrimegeour raised his hand to silence him.

"We have a bloody big problem, Minister," Scrimegeour said curtly.

Fudge felt suddenly very cold despite the heat still radiating from the fireplace. Scrimegeour was often blunt, but he was never _this _rude, and looking at the man more closely, he had never seen the lion-like Rufus Scrimegeour so _shaken_.

"What happened?" Fudge asked. He was sure that he would not like the answer.

"Black's gone."

"Sirius Black? What do you mean 'gone'?"

"'Gone', as in vanished from his cell without leaving a trace behind," Scrimegeour said seriously.

"_Escaped?_" Fudge breathed in shock. "But that's... that's not _possible_!"

"It seems to have become possible sometime during the last hour, though we received information of his absence only some fifteen minutes ago. I have already alerted every Auror and sent them after him, save for a handful who I stationed in Azkaban for the time being."

For a brief moment Fudge stared perplexed at Scrimegeour wishing fervently for someone to yell: 'April's fool!'. Then he swallowed with some difficulty.

"Sammy, bring me my cloak immediately."

_x~x_

Fudge stared paralysed at the excruciatingly empty cell where Black had been confined during his inspection but a few days previously. He scanned with his eyes every inch of the cell, as if it were possible that Black was merely hiding in some shadowed corner, but the cell stubbornly remained vacated. His mind was spinning with fear and sheer incredulity of what had had to happen. It was impossible! Azkaban was completely secure, unbreakable... or had been.

For a couple of very long seconds the only sounds that could be heard were water dripping on the stone floor from their wet cloaks, and the storm waves hitting against the island's rocky shores. When Fudge finally spoke, his voice sounded alien even in his own ears.

"Shacklebolt, decipher a suitable number of Dementors and send them after Black immediately."

Fudge knew that the thought was highly inappropriate, but he could not help feeling a slight stab of satisfaction when he saw that even the always calm and unflustered Kingsley Shacklebolt seemed shocked. It made him feel slightly less ashamed of his inability to keep his hands from shaking.

"Dawlish," Fudge continued. "Mr. Scrimegeour is issuing a red code alert throughout the Ministry. You shall go straight to Hogwarts and inform Dumbledore. He is to know even the most... troubling aspects of this... incident. Leave nothing out. Then you shall go to the Daily Prophet. Tell them-" Fudge's voice died out and he took a few deep breaths that did not have the desired effect of calming him down.

"Tell them that Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban."

_x~x_


	6. Epilogue

**AN: **Well, this story has been completed for quite a while now. However, I have a deep inner need for things to be symmetric and let me tell you, I have been beyond annoyed by the fact that the epilogue of 'Never Before' was actually longer than the two first chapters. Which is why I decided to write a new epilogue of more suitable lenght. I would like you all to push the green button and tell me what you thought. I like to think that the story is more balanced this way, but... Any feedback is welcome. (Even flames. I've never been flamed and, frankly, I'm slightly curious...)

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**Epilogue**

Before the first rays of the pale morning Sun crept over the horizon, flocks of owls would fly across the country bearing news as shocking as almost twelve years ago. There would be no celebrations that Saturday morning, though, no rejoicing at hearing these news that were nigh as unbelievable as back then. Old fear awoke in the minds of the people who could still remember that decade-long night over their nation and they would swear that they had felt something evil stir in the yesterday's storm. From the shadows whispered the ghosts belonging to the darkness they had put behind them during long years of peace.

They would speak his name with almost as great a fear as the one's whom he had served, their minds full of questions unanswered and of dread they had hoped to be able to forget. They would tell stories of his deeds, legendary though terrifying, and no one would doubt the version of the truth as they knew it. Fantastic as these tales would become, none of them was even close to the truth as it was known by the man who stood in the eye of this new storm. None of the people hunting him knew what they were after; none of them knew why, none of them understood. They might have been hunters, but he was no prey.

On some remote part of the Island the morning dawned gray. The shore was empty save for a few stray seabirds and showed no sign of what had happened during the stormy night before. The hunters had come here too, and left empty handed in desperate search for anything that would lead them to the tracks of the man they were after. The early tide and the pouring rain had washed away a set of footprints that were first human's, then animal's. There had been nothing left for anyone to find.

The wind came from the north and rustled the sparse hay on the deserted coastline.

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**AN/Disc:** **Now** it's finished...

Before someone asks: Yes, I'm very much aware how _the Wheel of Time_ish this epilogue was. And I think that I've read that phrase about hunters and prey somewhere... I'm not sure though... Well, as always, if you recognise it, it's not mine.


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